


Landfall

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Creature Fic, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Geralt spotted Jaskier's blue breeches neatly folded in the sand by the rock, his boots next to them, doublet unbuttoned and blowing in the wind. Those too blue eyes looked even brighter next to the sea and his heart skipped a beat. “Jaskier,” he sighed. He didn't know what else to say.While relief flooded Geralt—Jaskier was alive and well, no evil befell him after Geralt stupidly pushed him away—Jaskier didn't seem to share his feelings. His lips turned down, shoulders slumped. Finally, he said, “Are you here to kill me?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 111
Kudos: 1963
Collections: Best Geralt, Geralt is Sorry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrkinjd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/gifts).



> I've never been so happy that Witcher book lore borrows from like every other mythological lore, because when I set out to write a creature Jaskier fic, I wanted him to be a nereid, but they're only female. But hey, The Witcher uses merpeople, and they call mermen tritons, which is my preferred term for them. This all fell together, is what I'm saying.
> 
> I haven't written a creature Jaskier fic before, so please enjoy, let me know if you find a typo :)

Geralt managed to stay focused as he got Ciri to safety. He stayed focused as they found Yennefer and convinced her he needed her help (it wasn't a difficult conversation, one look at Ciri and the thunder of devotion filled her). He kept that focus, that one thread holding him together, all the way to Kaer Morhen. Once they arrived, once he knew Ciri was safe, he let that thread unravel...

Slumped across one of the tables in the dining hall, Geralt barely heard the others enter. A sharp nudge to his side woke him from the exhausted stupor filling his mind. His body was fine, but exhaustion wasn't just physical.

A tankard of Lambert's vile moonshine slid in front of him. “You look like shit,” Lambert said.

Another body sat on the bench across from him. “I have to agree,” Eskel said, then cursed at the burn of the moonshine down his throat.

Geralt lifted his head and regarded his own tankard before taking a deep pull. He barely felt the burn. He didn't want to examine exactly why. “It's been a long fucking war,” he grunted.

Lambert shook his head. “Nah, this isn't war weary. It's the bard, isn't it?”

Geralt opened his mouth to deflect, only to have Eskel answer for him. “Please, Lambert, it _couldn't_ be the bard. Geralt hasn't complained about him since... oh, last winter?”

“Complained like this?” Lambert cleared his throat and dropped his voice in an imitation of Geralt's growly rumble. “Damn fancy bard, wouldn't leave me alone, now I'm in more shit than ever before. Don't know why I put up with him in the first place. He talked too much. Too much noise. Too fussy. Always smelled soft... not good for the road. Might've been tracked.

“But Geralt,” Lambert said in his own voice. “I thought you said you made more coin with him around?

“Yeah, because of that stupid song,” the impression was back, “you hate that song too, don't deny it. He didn't tell the story right. He never fucking shut up. All the shit in my life, he was there... Good riddance.”

Eskel lifted his drink. “You forgot the best part. Do the night Geralt got shit faced on this fucking stuff and cried.”

Lambert took a deep breath to launch into a truly devastating impression, Geralt knocked him upside the head before he started. “Fine, I get it, shut up, both of you.” He went to take a drink of moonshine, thought better of it, and pushed the tankard away. No need to repeat _that_ night. He lowered his head to the table with a thunk. “What I said to him...”

“We know,” Eskel said. “You've told us.”

“A lot,” Lambert added. “We couldn't pry you from the moonshine that winter. I mean, I brew this tar, Geralt, when I tell you to stop, you need to stop.”

Geralt was so used to being the golden boy of Kaer Morhen, the White Wolf, Vesemir's favorite student. He knew it, his brothers knew it... and he also knew, one day, he'd have to take his lumps for a fall. He just never imagined it would be for spending too much time bending their ears about his bard, who he didn't miss but really wanted around again, the man he hurt for no good reason.

Geralt was also used to his mistakes having a reason behind them: running away from Destiny, well, Destiny sucked, he didn't owe it anything; binding Yennefer to him and leaving, then leaving again and again, that just brought her back to him at the right time, when Ciri needed them both. But Jaskier... there was no reason behind that, no rational thought except for life was a fuck, completely overwhelming Geralt until he couldn't breathe. And Jaskier happened to be standing there at the moment.

“What do I do?” he mumbled into the wood of the table.

“Find him,” Eskel said.

“Then get down on your knees and apologize. Suck his cock, if that'll help,” Lambert said. “Did you ever? I forget.”

Geralt bit down on his tongue, stopping the answer from slipping between his traitorous lips. Because the only thing more stupid than chasing Jaskier away, was Geralt wasting twenty fucking years not touching him, which he only realized the second he reached the bottom of that fucking mountain. He closed his eyes and remembered the ill fated dragon hunt. He followed Jaskier's scent all the way down, to make sure the idiot bard didn't die on the return trek. When he reached base camp and the smells of travelers crossed Jaskier's scent, muddling it until it disappeared, a crush of reality fell down around Geralt.

Jaskier was _gone_. Geralt told him to leave and he did. And now there was... nothing, no one, standing next to him.

“We'll tell Ciri where you went,” Eskel said. “I don't think Yennefer will care.”

“She won't.” Geralt sighed and lifted his head. “I have to pack. Heading out in the morning.”

“You know where you're going?” Lambert asked.

“The coast.” Jaskier wanted to go to the coast... best place to start.

“Try Kerack,” Eskel said. “He mentioned it a time or two. And he has some ballads about Kerack.” Geralt's eyebrow climbed up and Eskel rolled his eyes. “I listened to him sometimes. More than you, it seems. We talk about poetry.”

Geralt shook his head at his brothers and went up to his room, leaving them to their drinks in peace. He set off down the mountain the next day, towards Kerack.

“Coast” was a difficult direction to follow in a tiny extinct kingdom made of mostly coast. Once home to pirates, traders, and free-minded people, it wasn't more than a collection of city states now, ostensibly under the rule of Cidaris. Geralt managed to speak to a few people, traders mostly, who'd heard the name Jaskier.

“Yes, he's a bard from around these parts. Down south a little farther, I saw him play, oh, maybe a fortnight ago?”

He followed the vague directions, stopping and asking after Jaskier in every settlement he came across, until one day...

This was the last town before Kerack City. Maybe in a big city, someone had more solid information. Geralt stopped at the tavern and ordered a meal and a pint, carefully sniffing the food before eating, a habit he had to pick up again without Jaskier around to make people tolerate him. A busty woman seemed to own the place, serving at the bar while shouting orders to the bar maids and stable boys who stumbled in from their duties. Tavern owners knew a lot about an area, female tavern owners even more so. For some reason, no one ever suspected them of eavesdropping, ignoring them like any bar wench.

Geralt flagged the woman down and she swept over. “Anythin' else?” Her words were quick and clipped, but not rude. There were a lot of customers, she couldn't tarry with one for too long.

Geralt slid a coin across the table towards her (one of his last...). “I'm looking for a bard, might go by Jaskier. Brown hair, taller than he seems, usually wears blue. Have you seen him?”

The woman pressed her lips together and slid the coin back to him. “Yes, I know of him. Comes in here to play every week or so, he's a good attraction for the merchants we get through.”

Geralt stuffed down the excitement in his chest. Jaskier was close, but he hadn't found him yet, just another lead. _A good lead_ , the too hopeful part of his mind whispered. “Do you know where he stays?”

She looked him up and down, her jaw setting in a hard line. “What does a Witcher want with a bard? Are you the kind who takes human contracts?”

Damn School of the Cat—no, Geralt couldn't spare a thought for them now, not when he was so close. “No, nothing like that. We—uh,” _we're friends, I miss him, I love him, I need to find him_ , “we traveled together for a while, got separated by the war. I'm looking to find him, make sure he's alright.”

She appraised him again, then nodded to herself. She pointed out the door. “I don't know where he stays. I've seen him walking the rocks just outside the village. My boy saw him nearest the sea caves. Dangerous spot, that, tide comes in real sudden, can sweep a man away.”

A seeping fear spread through Geralt's gut. It had been there for weeks, ever since he set out looking for Jaskier, the dull thrum of terror that the bard might already be dead pushed back into the deepest parts of his mind. The idea of Jaskier—clumsy, trips over his own feet—walking dangerous rocks brought all of Geralt's fear to the surface.

He stood up from the bar and gathered his gear. “Thank you,” he called back to the woman, running out the door.

The mid-afternoon sun bathed the rocky land and surrounding beaches. Geralt ran his eyes along the coast and quickly located the sea caves. Surrounded by jagged rocks, Geralt's heart seized in panic. Jaskier, on those rocks, when the tide came in, suddenly swept away...

Taking a deep breath, Geralt willed himself to calm, slowing his heart back to normal. He turned back to the stable near the tavern and secured Roach for the whole night, gathering his swords, and some supplies in case he had to make camp. On the coast, this close to a settlement, drowners were the worst he'd encounter, the really dangerous sea beasts were much farther out. The sun started its descending arc and Geralt set off along the rocks, keeping his ears open for singing... or screaming.

After three quarters of an hour climbing across rocks and sandy beach, he heard it—

“Rolling waves cross the beach, whose sands I thought I never see, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho. This path of mine was out of reach, never thought it would bring you back to me, oh-ho, oh-ho, oh-ho.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt ran across the sand, his boots couldn't grip the loose material and it felt like running through mud. He turned around a group of rocks and a familiar head of brown hair appeared, blue silk doublet open and blowing in the wind. Sat on a rock with his feet in the water, Jaskier faced away from him, but Geralt recognized that voice, it couldn't anyone else. “Jaskier!” he shouted.

The gentle strains of the lute screeched to a stop and Jaskier turned sharply, wide blue eyes landing on Geralt. The water in front of him splashed and Geralt saw a flash of scales. One more outcropping of rocks separated them and Geralt scrambled to climb over them, to protect Jaskier from whatever had designs on him. Geralt just found him again, he would not lose him to a stupid sea monster.

More splashes. Jaskier turned his eyes away from Geralt and waved his hands at the water. “No, no, I'm fine! Yes, go home, I'll be by later... really, I'm fine.” The splashing stopped and Jaskier turned around again, but he didn't get up, just sat on the rock and waited for Geralt.

Hand clasped around the pommel of his sword, Geralt came to a stop a few feet away, close enough to grab Jaskier to get him out of danger, far enough from the water to keep out of the grip of anything lurking. They weren't far from the sea caves, maybe the locals thought they were dangerous for the rocks, with the true danger lurking in the shadows...

Geralt spotted Jaskier's blue breeches neatly folded in the sand by the rock, his boots next to them, doublet unbuttoned and blowing in the wind. Those too blue eyes looked even brighter next to the sea and his heart skipped a beat. “Jaskier,” he sighed. He didn't know what else to say.

While relief flooded Geralt—Jaskier was alive and well, no evil befell him after Geralt stupidly pushed him away—Jaskier didn't seem to share his feelings. His lips turned down, shoulders slumped. Finally, he said, “Are you here to kill me?”

“What?” Geralt sputtered. “No, fuck, why would I want to kill you?” Of all the scenarios he imagined for their first meeting (Jaskier running and jumping into his arms; Jaskier angry, screaming and crying; Geralt running and jumping at him) seated on a rock with fear in his eyes wasn't one of them.

He took a step and Jaskier held up a hand to stop him. “Give me a minute.” Geralt did as asked and stayed put.

Jaskier turned away from him again, setting his lute aside in the sand. He bowed his head forward and sighed. Geralt's medallion vibrated for a second and he whirled around, searching for an attacker—but they were alone, not another soul in sight, not this close to the sharp rocks and dangerous sea caves. Geralt turned back just in time to see Jaskier stand up, his feet covered in bluish scales, quickly fading back to fleshy peach toes.

Jaskier rolled his toes in the sand and pulled his breeches on, not looking at Geralt. Once he was dressed, he lifted his head, eyes hard and defiant. “Like I said: are you here to kill me?”

The medallion was silent against his skin once more, and Geralt stood in front of a very human Jaskier... but the brief flicker of scaly skin embedded itself behind Geralt's eyes, and would not leave. “What—what are you?”

Jaskier's lip curled in a snarl, eyes growing colder. With a flourish of his hands, he took a bow. “Hello, Jaskier the bard, pleased to meet you.”

“That's not—” Geralt growled at his inelegant tongue. His hand released his sword. “I didn't mean... Your feet. You had scales. And my medallion... it's never reacted to you before.”

“Because I've never changed in front of you before. I'm not stupid.” But Jaskier took pity on the Witcher. “I'm a triton, well, part triton. Nereids are exclusively female, but there are stories of mermen out there in the world. Surely you've heard such tales in your line of work?” Geralt nodded but he did not trust his mouth to speak, he'd already said too many wrong things. “Right, since merpeople are one of the oldest races in the Great Sea, there's been a lot of interbreeding, like six hundred years of it. Every once in a while, a nereid produces male offspring, usually after a love match instead of, you know...” He gave another, weaker hand flourish, indicating himself. “Mum fell in love with a sailor, turned out to be a Viscount. A quick love affair later and boom, me, part triton, part human.

“So I ask again, are you here to kill me?”

Geralt shook his head and watched the anger drain from Jaskier's face. “I kill monsters, not people. You should know that.”

“I thought you didn't want to see me ever again,” Jaskier said. It was fair, Geralt said that... but the words stung all the same. “You're usually a Witcher of your word. Why else would you subject yourself to my presence other than to get rid of me? How did you find out, by the way? I'm very careful. Haven't even heard stories from the local sailors.”

“Find out?” Geralt's mind was swimming. He expected a tearful, possibly loud, reunion. He expected to apologize profusely and get down on his knees if necessary (not because of Lambert's suggestion, but _maybe_ , if Jaskier wanted him like that). What he did not expect was an argument about why he didn't want to kill Jaskier. “I came to find you and, uh, apologize. For what I said. That's the reason why I'm here.” His eyes darted down to Jaskier's bare feet, which weren't feet a moment ago. “I've never thought you were anything other than human.”

Jaskier laughed. “Seriously? You, professional monster hunter, never suspected? I never transformed in front of you, but you didn't have the tiniest inkling? Not even a little? Eskel and Lambert were almost on the right track. I think they have a bet going—Lambert thinks I'm part elf and Eskel thinks my lute is magic. They never mentioned it?”

Geralt tried not to listen to his brothers spouting nonsense, and he definitely didn't listen when they told him their stories of Jaskier. “Lambert, remember the first winter he brought the bard?”

“How he wouldn't stop fucking singing? I thought Vesemir was going to throw him out a window... nice lute, though. Magic?”

“Bet you it is...”

Jaskier laughed again. “Wow, amazing.” He shook his head and straightened up a little. “So, not here to kill me. Apology, you said? I didn't think that was in your nature.”

“It's not,” Geralt said. “But I owe it to you. What I said... I didn't mean—”

Jaskier held up a hand once again and Geralt fell silent. Those eyes, as blue as the sea behind him, passed over Geralt, like he was reading a book. What secrets did his eyes see? Geralt remembered, when they traveled together, Jaskier always read him and said exactly what Geralt didn't want to hear, so he stopped listening. He should have listened... “If you're not going to kill me, I have to go spread the word. I give a sunset concert here every night. I'm not going to make my sisters surface with you around—I know you won't hurt them, but it'll make them nervous.”

He rolled his shoulders, shrugging out of his doublet and undershirt before starting on his breeches. Geralt dropped his eyes to the sandy beach and saw the blue scales take over Jaskier's feet once again... “I have to tell them I'm fine, they'll worry if I don't. Stay if you want. Or leave, doesn't matter.” He threw his clothes onto the beach next to his lute and waded into the water. When he was in up to his knees, Geralt chanced a look.

Blue scales climbed up Jaskier's back, stopping just above his waist, small slits appearing behind his ears and down his neck. His hair stayed the same, and his lips and face held that same beautiful human pink, as well as much of his torso, only a hint of a blue tinge to his skin. He walked a little farther and splashed down, legs suddenly not legs. Eyes on the water, Jaskier took one last breath of air. “If you're here when I get back, we can talk more.”

A large wave rolled in, and when the surface calmed before the next wave came, Jaskier was gone. Geralt sat on the rocks to wait. He made the mistake of leaving once, he wasn't going to make it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier surfaced a ways away from the beach, his eyes barely above the water. The sun had long set and the moon was high... and Geralt was still there.
> 
> “Well,” Jaskier whispered to himself. “I guess I better go talk to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mermaids in Witcher canon have unspecified powers, so I made some up. Enjoy :)

Jaskier surfaced a ways away from the beach, his eyes barely above the water. The sun had long set and the moon was high... and Geralt was still there.

“Well,” Jaskier whispered to himself. “I guess I better go talk to him.” He swam towards the shore, transforming as he went, he wasn't sure he wanted to give Geralt the full show right now, not until he heard what the Witcher had to say. An apology from Geralt of Rivia, what a concept.

Geralt saw him much farther out than he would've thought and gathered Jaskier's clothes from the sand, placing them closer to the water and turning around. _Very considerate._ Jaskier walked onto the beach and got dressed, the silk sticking to his wet skin. He usually let himself air dry for a bit before heading out, but he wasn't going anywhere at the moment, was he?

“You don't have to do that,” Jaskier said, tying his breeches closed. “You've seen me naked hundreds of times. Twenty years of camping, bathing together, you should be used to it.”

Geralt lifted his eyes and shook his head. “Don't want to look if I don't have permission.”

“I appreciate that.” Jaskier really did. How long had they been apart, year and a half, maybe two? Geralt seemed to gain a lot of social skills in that time. “You said you wanted to apologize. I'm listening.”

Geralt took a moment to collect himself, then looked Jaskier right in the eye. “It wasn't your fault, in Cintra, at the banquet. The djinn wasn't your fault either. I was angry and I blamed you. You didn't deserve that. I asked life to take you away from me and you left. I don't want that to happen again.” Holding Jaskier's gaze, Geralt sank to his knees in the sand. “I am sorry, Jaskier, so deeply sorry.”

Jaskier looked down at Geralt, really looked at him. He set his swords in the sand, not quite out of reach but not immediately to hand; he laid his hands across his knees, palms up, open in supplication; and he fell into his meditation pose but his eyes were still open, focused on Jaskier. This wasn't just a sincere apology, it was the formerly closed off Witcher throwing open the doors to his mind and letting Jaskier see him, for the first time. Jaskier staggered back a little under the weight of _that_ feeling. Geralt didn't move, but his eyes continued to follow Jaskier, waiting for his decision.

He started slow. “You waited for me to return. You sat here, watching the tide come in, and waited. You came here looking for a human, found me the way I am... and you still,” his voice caught on the words, “you still apologized.”

Geralt nodded. “Yes.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, blinking away the tears trying to spill. “Alright then, thank you. Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.” Geralt slowly climbed to his feet, a far too graceful movement for a man with his build. Jaskier blinked and Geralt was right in front of him, hand lifted to cup his face but not touching, not yet. “I have a second apology. If you'd like to hear it.” Too unsure of his voice at this point, Jaskier nodded. Geralt smiled softly, scenting the air around him and moving in closer. “I'm sorry I wasted our time. Twenty years, I could've been kissing you. Can I kiss you now?”

Jaskier was right not to trust his voice, for when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Geralt's fingers brushed his cheek and the dam burst—a moan fell from his lips as his eyes closed, tears starting to roll down his cheeks. Geralt pressed their foreheads together, still not kissing, he hadn't gotten permission yet. “Jaskier,” he whispered. “Are you—”

“If you ask me if I'm alright, I'm going to punch you.” Jaskier smacked Geralt's shoulder anyway. “Twenty years, Geralt, twenty fucking years—I thought you'd find me out, try to kill me. My mother thought I was insane to stay with you, but I loved you too fucking much to leave. I wasn't getting older—I don't age like regular humans—and you still didn't fucking notice! You sent me away and I tried to think that was lucky, making me leave before you found out. Now you show up and you know, and still just apologize for not fucking me when you could've? What does that even mean?”

He said all this with Geralt still right in front of him, lips a whisper away. He took a deep breath and tried to stop the tears. Twenty years of too much emotion bubbling to the surface all at once... “Yes,” he managed to say once he could breathe again. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

And Geralt did. And Jaskier kept crying. The salty tears mixed on their lips and Jaskier wrapped his arms tight around Geralt's neck. Gloved hands fell to his waist, holding them together. Jaskier hoped they'd never have to let go...

Jaskier melted against Geralt's chest, flicking his tongue against surprisingly soft lips. His breath came in little huffs between kisses, but he never pulled back too far, not even for breath. He never wanted to stop, they had twenty years to make up for after all. Geralt's firm hand on the back of his neck was icing on the cake—holding them together, but not with enough force to stop Jaskier from moving away.

Geralt was the first to pull away and Jaskier so wanted to follow with his lips. That hand stayed on the back of his neck, thumb gently brushing his hairline. “Where have you been staying?”

“Uh...” Jaskier eyed the water. “Mostly, in the sea. But there's an inn, it's not far.”

“I left Roach in the stables there. We can make it back.” Yes, the journey over the sand was difficult, but with Jaskier at his side again, Geralt felt like he could fly. And while he didn't mind camping on the beach, a hopeful part of him wanted a bed, now that they were reunited... well, Geralt wanted to start making up for lost time. Tonight, if possible.

Jaskier looked at the sky and bit his lip. “It's not midnight yet. If we hurry, there should be a room left. If she's not full, Tonnie keeps a room open for me in case I come to perform.”

“Tonnie?” Geralt picked up Jaskier's lute case and handed it to him without being asked. They started walking back towards the town.

“Yes, the tavern owner. He husband's a fisherman, gone most of the time on the water.”

Geralt suddenly remembered his lack of coin. “I don't know if I have enough money for a room.”

“Don't worry.” Jaskier lifted his lute case and shook it gently, the jingle of coin unmistakable. “You ever lose a coin over the side of a ship?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier smiled. “So have about a thousand other people. We'll be fine for a few weeks, probably until we get wherever we're going. Now, good Witcher, you need to tell me everything.”

As they walked, Geralt talked. He told Jaskier of his attempts to protect Ciri, to claim the path Destiny clearly wanted him on; Queen Calanthe blocking him at every turn, then her death when Destiny was tired of being ignored; losing Ciri; almost dying to a fucking necrophage bite; and finding Ciri again. He hadn't even started on Ciri's end of the story (or Yennefer's, but Jaskier might not want to hear that part) when they reached the inn.

The candles were still lit in the dining area and the second Jaskier opened the door, the owner—Tonnie—her face lit up. “Dear bard, good to see you. A bit late for a song.”

“Oh no, not tonight. I'm here for a room. An old friend found me and we're catching up. Do you have space for us?”

Tonnie eyed Geralt and leaned in close to Jaskier, whispering, “He came by asking after you. I didn't want to run foul of a Witcher and I pointed him down to where you've been... seen. My apologies on that.”

Jaskier smiled at the woman and shook his head. “No trouble, I'm happy to see him. But we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Of course.” She handed over a key. “Third door on the left.”

Geralt watched their exchange carefully, but didn't say anything. He silently followed Jaskier up the stairs to the room. He closed the door and nodded downstairs. “Does she know?”

Ah yes, now it was his turn to answer questions. At least Geralt started with an easy one. “No. A few locals have seen me near those caves, there's a smugglers' cove a little further along, so most of them think I'm in with the pirates in the area.” He shrugged. “I pay well and sometimes bring in strange coins I find on the bottom of the sea, it makes more sense in their minds.”

Geralt nodded, considering the answer like he did, thinking too long without speaking. At least some things hadn't changed. Jaskier shifted, his clothes already starting to grate at his skin. He hadn't been in his human form this long in weeks... “You have more questions?” he asked.

“Yes. If you don't mind answering.”

“You've been more than fair.” Jaskier tugged at his collar, pacing the room a little, his nervousness returning. What happened when Geralt asked a question he didn't want to answer? Would it destroy whatever happened on the beach?

Geralt set his swords down near the door—once again, out of his immediate reach but still close enough—and started taking off his armor. He left his breeches for now and sat on the bed, eyes following Jaskier as he paced. “I don't know much about merpeople. They never cause problems that call for Witchers. I know they're water beings that sing.” The question was obvious. Geralt asked it anyway. “Do you enthrall people when you sing?”

“No,” Jaskier said quickly. “That's mostly sirens—distant, _distant_ cousins, I assure you. Merpeople have lovely voices, though, sailors fall for them because men are idiots,” Geralt had no argument there and let Jaskier continue, “and I can sing, obviously, but that's it. I sound better near water, more resonant, no magic about it though.”

“Do you have magic?” Geralt asked. “My medallion only sensed you when you changed.”

Jaskier shrugged, stopping near the window. His eyes found the sea, already too far for him to feel it... “Little stuff, and only near water. I can transform, you saw that, and, uh, I guess I'm more in tune with nature... again, the watery parts of nature. Most of it stops working on dry land. If I get too far away from a body of water, I can't transform at all.” Jaskier scrubbed a hand over his face and rested his head against the cool glass of the window. His shirt scratched against his skin, breeches too tight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt's voice was smooth and soft, not a demand... Jaskier wasn't used to that yet. “If this is too much, we can talk in the morning.”

“No, I'm fine.” He turned back around, finding those beautiful golden eyes and letting himself fall into them. “Getting used to land again... my clothes, they're... a little too much. Right now.”

Geralt dropped his eyes, looking at the floor and turning away a little for good measure. “You can undress, if that's more comfortable.”

Not one hour ago, Jaskier tasted Geralt's lips and never wanted to taste another pair as long as he lived, and yet the Witcher still insisted on giving him privacy. Jaskier had to laugh at that. “You can look. I'm not mad at you any more.” Jaskier shrugged out of his open doublet and Geralt's eyes flicked back up to him, licking his lips. Finally invited to watch, he was going to look his fill.

Jaskier threw his doublet onto a chair without his usual care, pulling at his boots next. Undershirt and breeches followed and the clinging itch of clothing was finally gone. He stretched his arms, turning in a circle, feeling the air around him. This close to the coast, the air was always humid and the invisible water droplets sang along his skin.

Comfortable once again, Jaskier turned and walked over to the bed, his eyes on Geralt. “I'll tell you more. I don't mind answering your questions, but...” He bit his lip and climbed into Geralt's lap. The smooth leather of his breeches didn't irritate Jaskier's skin as much, and the Witcher's decadently bare chest made Jaskier want to lean against him, pressing skin to skin as long as he was allowed. “Today has been. A lot. Can we get back to the kissing? I really liked that part.”

Desire flickered deep in Geralt's eyes and a smirk bloomed across his lips. “Yes. I liked that too.” One hand behind Jaskier's neck, Geralt pulled their lips together in another too perfect kiss. Geralt opened his mouth in invitation and Jaskier took it, pressing his tongue forward to taste what he'd dreamed about for so long.

With Jaskier this close, Geralt started noticing the little things—the soft scent of salt that clung to his hair, the way his skin was a little too soft, not a dry patch to be found—and marveled at his own stupidity. It was right here in front of him the whole time, and he was too blind to notice, too easy to dismiss the funny little bard stuck to his boot. Jaskier pulled back for breath and Geralt whispered, “I will never dismiss you again.”

A smile as bright as the sunrise over the sea lit Jaskier's face. “I don't know what brought this about, but I like it. Not that I didn't like you before,” Jaskier quickly added as he threaded his fingers through Geralt's silky hair. “Broody and sullen really works for you.”

Geralt laughed. “Oh, there will be plenty of that as well.”

There were no more words for them to say, not at the moment. They both needed to feel more than anything else, Geralt's firm chest under Jaskier's fingers—Jaskier's soft skin against Geralt's—they needed more than they ever could've predicted.

Lifting Jaskier, Geralt flipped them over and pressed the bard into the bed, one hand holding tight while the other worked at the buttons of his breeches. He shoved them down his hips and his cock fell free, settling into the bend of Jaskier's hip. He'd seen it before, twenty years of bathing, dressing, traveling, and Geralt wasn't shy of his nudity, but Jaskier had never seen it like _this_ : hot, hard, heavy and thick, pressed right up against his skin, blood burning through, with a fat head just waiting to be licked.

He bit his lip, suddenly distracted from the wonderful kisses, and wrapped elegant fingers around Geralt's cock. His fingertips touched around the thickest part, but just barely. “Fuck,” Jaskier hissed.

Geralt trailed his lips up Jaskier's neck. “Mmm, do you want me?” he whispered against trembling skin. He pumped his hips a little, sliding along Jaskier's hip, the tip leaking as he went. The smell of his own cock mixed with Jaskier's salt and sunshine skin was almost too much for Geralt to handle, he needed Jaskier, soon...

“Ugh, what kind of question is that?” He stroked Geralt from root to tip, feeling that incredible girth. A low growl built in his chest. “Please, tell me you have oil... something, anything.” That was a little bit Jaskier's fault, living in the sea was cheaper, all he had to do was stash his lute at night and he was set, no bedroll or supplies necessary. Though he dearly wished for a very specific item right now.

“I do.” Geralt didn't want to seem too hopeful, it was Jaskier's oil in the first place, he found it in his bags when he was on his way to Cintra and didn't get rid of it... The smell, it reminded him of Jaskier and his too elaborate bath rituals, spreading the medicinal chamomile on Geralt's injuries, him grumbling the whole time. He really had so, so much to make up for.

Jaskier kissed him again and let go of his cock, blue eyes on fire. “Get it.”

Geralt had never jumped out of bed that fast. In one stride, he was across the room, digging through is bag for the vial. As soon as it touched his fingers he launched himself at Jaskier. He hadn't been gone more than a few seconds and it still felt like an eternity. Geralt settled between Jaskier's legs, running his hands up the body he'd missed and didn't know, the man he never appreciated enough.

Jaskier arched into the touch, thrusting his cock into Geralt's stomach. The head caught on hard muscle and Jaskier gasped, the sudden need to rut against Geralt's washboard stomach filling him. Then Geralt opened the vial of oil and a slick finger touched his hole, and Jaskier forgot every thought he'd ever had.

Two fingers slid inside and Jaskier moaned. “More, more...” he panted, clawing at Geralt's shoulders.

“Shh,” Geralt hushed, lips brushing his collar bone. “Let me.”

Let him what? Let Geralt lead? Let him touch? Let him chase away months of anger and regret and sadness? Let him finally show Jaskier how he truly felt? After all they'd been through together, the mountain and discovering his true nature (fuck, was that today? it felt like a hundred years ago...) let Geralt treat him right?

“Yes,” Jaskier panted. “Yes... fuck.”

Geralt's fingers slid out and he quickly poured some more oil on his cock. Jaskier started to shake under him as soon as the head kissed his rim, panting and moaning as Geralt slowly pushed inside. Velvety heat surrounded him and Geralt had to stop himself from thrusting all the way in. He didn't want to go too fast and ruin the moment. He wanted to give Jaskier everything, make up for all the years they missed.

But Jaskier was done waiting. Pressing his heel into Geralt's ass, he pushed him forward. “Fuck me already, don't make me wait,” he growled out, nibbling at Geralt's neck. “I've waited for you long enough.”

With a huffed laugh, Geralt thrust in to the hilt. “Yes,” he whispered back. “You have waited too long.”

Wrapping both arms around Jaskier, he snapped his hips, filling the bard, making him moan. The glorious sounds were music to Geralt's ears, he never wanted to hear any other, not for the rest of his days. He pushed his face into Jaskier's neck and licked at the sweat beading on his skin. Fuck, he even tasted like the sea. Geralt imagined if they'd done this sooner—years ago, when they should have—the sea salt and ocean sun taste of Jaskier's skin might've tipped him to something _different_ going on here. Or maybe not, Geralt was only recently learning how truly thick he was when it came to his friends. He'd never make that mistake again.

Jaskier's hand pushed its way between them, wrapping around his cock and pulling as Geralt thrust inside him, chest heaving, gulping air. He started laughing and kissed up Geralt's neck, lips nibbling his ear. “It's a shame Witchers can't breathe under water. Might be fun to have you down there.”

While Geralt couldn't imagine how fucking Jaskier could be any better than this moment, he smiled and whispered, “I do have a potion for that.” He took a second to consider Jaskier's legs tight around him, nearly squeezing the breath from his lungs, those milky thighs holding so tight, slick channel sucking him inside... “Well, it makes it easier to hold my breath. You'll probably still drown me.”

Jaskier chuckled. “We can work on it. Now, fuck me.” He threw his head back and stroked his cock, each stroke coming faster, hips canting to meet Geralt's thrusts.

Geralt held out just long enough to see Jaskier's mouth go slack, white streaks of come painting his chest. His chin tipped back, exposing the long line of his neck and Geralt couldn't resist. Sinking his teeth into the tender flesh, he came, pumping Jaskier full of his seed.

They came forever, wrapped in a never ending feedback loop of pleasure. Jaskier's sweaty skin stuck to his and Geralt had never been more content. With Ciri safe and Jaskier under him, his heart was complete once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of triton Jaskier finding a shit ton of lost coins and just... living off that, tickles me to no end. If I were a mermaid, that's what I'd do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only really powerful thing I can do is summon a kraken, and that takes a bunch of us together. My family hasn't done that in, oh... years I'd say, and it was the town's fault. We were just bystanders if you really think about it...”
> 
> Jaskier peered at Geralt out of the corner of his eye to find the Witcher's jaw hanging open. He burst out laughing. “I'm kidding! Seriously, Geralt, when was the last time you heard of a kraken rising? Two hundred years ago?”
> 
> Relatively convinced that Jaskier hadn't sent a fucking kraken on a town full of people, Geralt moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one solid thing the Witcher wiki said about mermaids is they have green hair and green nipples. I like Jaskier's brown hair and decided to keep it, but the green nipples seemed really specific... I left it in. Also, on one of the loading screens in TW3, it said "merpeople don't like witchers," but that's the only place I've seen that information and chose to ignore it.

They made their way toward Kaer Morhen, stopping in Kerack City to resupply (a new travel bag for Jaskier, some rope, lots of oil...) and they were off. They headed back up the coast, filling each other in on the time they'd been apart.

It was strangely... familiar. This was their pattern before the mountain, when the world pulled them apart for one reason or another, they'd swap stories when they met up again. Only it wasn't just stories this time, it was kisses and stolen glances on the road when they hadn't seen another soul for miles; whispered words in tavern rooms, sweaty skin pressed together, making up for lost time.

They followed the coast until they had to head deeper into the Continent, and even then, Geralt tried to keep them near a river, or some small amount of flowing water. The first few days on land, Jaskier showed some worrying physical symptoms—sweating, fidgeting, difficulty eating. He waved it away. “I'm fine. I lived mostly on land for twenty years, going back to the sea was hard, my feet refused to fully change at first. Going back to land is hard as well, but manageable. My body got used to changing every night to go to sleep.” He scratched his head, stroking a finger behind his ear and down his neck where his gills would be.

Geralt stepped in close and covered Jaskier's hand with his own, tracing the same path with his larger finger, massaging his scalp. “Does being near the water make it easier?”

Jaskier nodded, leaving Geralt's hand on his head, pushing into the soft touch. “Yes, it does.”

“Then we'll travel near water.” He so wanted to kiss Jaskier, but the nearest town was too near... no need to risk another traveler seeing them.

They talked as they went, swapping stories, and Geralt got to ask more questions, filling in the picture of Jaskier he never knew was incomplete. “What sort of magic does the water give you?” he asked. “You said you have a little. What does it do for you?” Witcher Signs were magic, small magic, dwarfed by most moderately talented mages.

Jaskier shrugged as he walked along the edge of the river, his feet light and completely sure of each step. Maybe Jaskier was so clumsy on land because it was _land_ , not water. Geralt had to ask about that later. “It's nothing like Signs, if that's what you're asking. It's not even magic, really, more like... instinct, I guess? I can read the waves, tell when a storm is coming, find good fishing spots, find bodies of water too, if I'm close enough. On a ship, I'm better than any compass, I can always find where I need to be, as long as it touches water.” He stepped on a stump and gracefully jumped off, back on the path with Geralt and Roach. “The only really powerful thing I can do is summon a kraken, and that takes a bunch of us together. My family hasn't done that in, oh... years I'd say, and it was the town's fault. We were just bystanders if you really think about it...”

Jaskier peered at Geralt out of the corner of his eye to find the Witcher's jaw hanging open. He burst out laughing. “I'm kidding! Seriously, Geralt, when was the last time you heard of a kraken rising? Two hundred years ago? My mother was just a baby then, she barely remembers it.”

Relatively convinced that Jaskier hadn't sent a fucking kraken on a town full of people, Geralt moved on to his next question. “Your mother... you've never mentioned your family. You said your father was the human?”

Jaskier's usually bright smile dipped at the corners. “Yes. He saw mum from his ship, thought she was just bathing. Nereids appear human enough. When they met by the water, she told him the truth and he said he still loved her. They had me, and when he brought us to his home...” His smile was gone now. “Let's just say, his parents weren't thrilled about a bastard, and a half human bastard was just so much worse. They sent him away, to court where we couldn't follow. I only met him once when I was six, he was going off to war and wanted to meet me in case he didn't come back.”

The scent of sadness poured off Jaskier, souring his bright salty smell. Geralt wanted to stop him, make the sadness go away, but he needed to get the story out. Jaskier pressed on. “He didn't come back, and when I made landfall, first thing I did was visit his family, offer to renounce my title and claim to their lands in exchange for enough gold to get me started as a human. They agreed, some cousin inherited, and I enrolled in Oxenfurt.” His smile returned and the sadness started to fade. He stepped closer to Geralt, lifting a hand to pet Roach. “And then I met you.”

“Then you met me,” Geralt said.

They walked along in silence for a little while after that, until they reached a good camping spot. The sun was still high but Geralt wanted to stop, the need to hold Jaskier in his arms grew stronger and stronger with each new fact he learned and now he couldn't take it any longer. He saw to Roach's needs and Jaskier set up their camp, then Geralt took off his armor and wrapped himself around Jaskier, pulling him close.

He trailed his nose down Jaskier's neck, where he saw him rubbing earlier. “I want to bathe in the river, see you change... but only if you want.”

Jaskier leaned his head back, letting Geralt's nose travel along the soft skin of his neck and jaw, a shiver running through him at the touch. “You want to see me like—like that?”

Geralt pulled back and cupped a hand around Jaskier's jaw, rubbing his thumb over one of those devastating cheek bones. “I want to see all of you. As much as you want to give me.”

Nodding, Jaskier started on his doublet, opening the ties. “But I want you to know, you don't need to do this to embrace the _real_ me, or whatever you might think. This is the real me too, I'm both.” He shrugged, letting the soft silk fall on top of their bedroll and pulling off his shirt. “And, in case you're curious, fucking is easier like this. Legs are handy for that sort of thing.”

Geralt watched Jaskier strip with hungry eyes, attending to his own clothing. The warm almost autumn air licked against his skin, making the first step into the cool water more refreshing than bracing. Geralt waded in up to his hips and waited for Jaskier, still on the bank. “If you're not comfortable—”

“No, no, I'm fine showing you,” Jaskier said. He flexed his toes and stepped into the water. “It's just been a few weeks. Might take a minute.”

The transformation started slow, the tips of Jaskier's toes turning blue, skin growing more scaly and textured. He walked farther into the water, the blue now up to his knees. He still had two human legs, only the color had changed. Once Jaskier reached Geralt, he wrapped his arms around the Witcher's neck and dipped down in the water. The river wasn't that deep here and when Geralt reached down to pull Jaskier back up, he felt two fish tails brush past his legs.

“Tritons have... two tails, mermaids have, o-one,” Jaskier huffed. Brow furrowed, lips pressed together in concentration, the blue now traveled up his chest, stopping just above his navel, nipples going a shade of green. Jaskier's usually thick chest hair was still present above his waist, but the trail that connected to his cock was gone, replaced with longer, softer scales down the center of his belly. Like before, his hair and face were exactly the same, with the exception of the slitted gills on the sides of his head and neck. Geralt lowered Jaskier into the water until he was floating on his back, gills submerged into the water.

“Thank you. I can breathe air just fine, water is easier like this.” His chest expanded, but Geralt didn't see or hear any breath flowing through his nose or tightly closed lips. “Merpeople don't surface for long because the sun hurts their skin. It only bothers mine around midday, when the sun is high, and again, only like this.” He let Geralt trace a hand over his body, feeling the spots were human skin turned scaly and slick. “Mer hair is also green. Mum says dad had beautiful thick hair just like mine, guess I take after him there...”

Geralt's hand traveled lower and lower, dipping into the water, brushing over what would be Jaskier's hips. He stopped there, thumb gently stroking. “How does everything... work? Down here. If you don't mind me asking?”

A nervous laugh bubbled past Jaskier's lips and he pushed into Geralt's hand. He knew, the bastard knew Jaskier liked his hip stroked like that. Stupid Witcher, able to find that spot on him when he didn't technically have hips anymore... “Same as it does with legs.” He flipped his twin tails in the water and Geralt's fingers drifted to the center, tracing over the V where they met. “Everything's, uh, tucked inside.”

Geralt prodded a little until his finger brushed the edge of a nearly invisible slit. Jaskier flailed in his arms and Geralt smirked. “So tritons have cunts? Who knew?”

“Hey, there is a fully functioning cock in there, I'll have you know.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt's wrist, stopping him from exploring further. “But like I said, sex with legs is more fun. You never know how amazing external genitalia is until you don't have it. Hold on, and I can...” Still holding tight to Geralt's wrist, he closed his eyes. A soft grunt of concentration and Jaskier started squirming. The wet scales slid across Geralt's hand and he had to hold tight with both arms to keep from dropping Jaskier into the water.

Right in front of Geralt's eyes, Jaskier changed again. His tails became firmer, an obvious knee joint forming. His skin was still blue and scaly, but Geralt saw the lines of firm muscles obviously meant for walking, not swimming. Jaskier groaned again and spread his thighs, his cock emerging from under the water. The skin was a little blue, but it was definitely his cock, Geralt had seen it enough recently to recognize it. He slid a hand down and carefully felt for Jaskier's balls... yup, it was all there.

Half floating on the surface of the water, half laying in Geralt's arms, Jaskier looked... more or less human. The skin from his toes to his navel, was bright blue, a little darker than his eyes, and a light pattern of scales decorated the new skin. Everything from the waist up was peachy pink and Geralt couldn't help but run his fingers over every inch of sopping wet skin, feeling the slip and slide of scales, followed by the light resistance of human skin.

“Amazing...” he whispered.

Jaskier blushed, the red flushing down his chest, an interesting contrast with the blue of his almost-legs. “Flatterer,” he breathed. Geralt's fingers really were doing unfair things, traveling all over his body, touching every erogenous zone he'd learned recently, applying his fresh knowledge to Jaskier's especially sensitive mer skin...

That hand traveled down again, wrapping around Jaskier's cock, hard despite the cold water. Geralt always wondered why Jaskier didn't mind jumping in the cold bath after Geralt had his... Little mysteries from their travels started coming together and Geralt couldn't wait to find out more.

He started stroking, slowly at first, watching Jaskier for a reaction. The bard's mouth opened and closed a few times before he bit his lip and arched up into Geralt's touch. “Is this alright?” Geralt asked softly.

“Yeah...” Jaskier sighed. “I haven't done it like this before.” His breath came a little faster, from Geralt's firm strokes, and from the effort of holding his transformation. “Half way transformed, it's... you make it hard to concentrate.” He grabbed Geralt's shoulders and pulled himself closer, lifting his head from the water and pulling in ragged breath through his mouth once again.

Geralt kept half an eye on Jaskier for any discomfort, the other half watching for his pleasure. Floating on the water, it wasn't much effort to lift him, especially with his less dense triton body, and Geralt watched the smooth undulation of Jaskier's muscles with every stroke of his hand. He flicked his wrist, faster, then slowed to long, luxurious pulls, keeping Jaskier guessing. His thumb slid over the slit and Jaskier moaned, suddenly heavier in the water, the thick muscles of his legs more solid.

Jaskier snapped forward, pulling himself flush against Geralt's chest, his moans getting louder. Geralt saw his gills seal shut and his body got heavier. Jaskier sucked in another breath, “Oh fuck, fuuck...” Come spilled across Geralt's fingers, a fully human Jaskier tensing in his arms as his orgasm hit like a wave. He slumped back a few seconds later, almost dropping into the water when his legs didn't catch him.

Geralt ran a hand across his chest and through his hair, appreciating human skin as much as he explored Jaskier's transformed body. “Good?” he asked.

Jaskier nodded. “Yes. Good. Thank you.”

Later that night, Jaskier mostly asleep in his arms, Geralt rubbed a hand across his smooth face. So young... after twenty years together, only a few lines crossed his beautiful skin. “Jaskier?” Geralt whispered. “You said your mother was two hundred...”

“Mmm, and counting,” Jaskier grumbled, leaning back into Geralt to show he was listening.

“How old are you?”

“About forty. I didn't lie to you, I was near eighteen when we met. I'm aging slower, though, which you never seemed to pick up on.”

“If you age slower...” The question was on the tip of his tongue, did he really want to ask? Did Geralt really want to know how long he'd have Jaskier now? Maybe he didn't waste those twenty years after all... “How long will you live?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Nereids are longer lived than tritons, and since I'm half human, mum thinks I might have two, maybe three hundred years. Something like that.”

Two hundred years, or more. Geralt hid his smile in Jaskier's neck. He hadn't wasted what little of Jaskier's life he had, there was more, so much more. “Do you know how old Vesemir is?” Jaskier shook his head and Geralt kissed the back of his neck, where hair brushed fragrant skin. “Just north of four hundred.”

He didn't need to say anything more, the waves of happiness rolling off Jaskier said enough: if they played their cards right, twenty lost years would feel like the blink of an eye. Geralt could keep Jaskier for a very long time. Jaskier wasn't foolish enough to ask for forever, he didn't want forever, but two hundred years... he'd take it.

Jaskier rolled over and moved as close to Geralt as possible, burying his face into his neck, smelling his hair. “I think I'll keep you, then.”

Geralt kissed the top of Jaskier's head and stayed watch while the bard dreamed of their next century together...

~

The closer they got to Kaer Morhen, the more fidgety Jaskier became. They hadn't passed a body of water in a while, but Jaskier insisted all was well. “I'm used to legs again, my gills don't itch, I'm fine.”

“Then what is it?” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier didn't answer him.

They were half way up the mountain before Jaskier admitted what was bothering him. “What if they don't like me anymore?” The words were small, quietly whispered into Geralt's chest as they shared a bedroll for the night.

Jaskier had wintered at Kaer Morhen a handful of times. He learned how to approach the others, bonding with them over shared interests so he didn't annoy them enough to throw him out a window. He and Lambert played cards together, swindling anyone stupid enough to challenge them. And Eskel, with his fondness for books and learning, sat for hours in the library with Jaskier, discussing what the classic masters were _really_ like. “Drunks, mostly,” he remembered Eskel telling him one year. “Marcus the Younger, had a gambling problem, bet me a first edition of his first book of poems. I still have it...” Spending winter laughing and drinking with Geralt was fun, but he liked the others as well, and Jaskier readily called them friend. What if that was no longer true?

With a deep sigh, Geralt pulled Jaskier closer, kissing up his neck, grounding him in their new relationship. “Eskel's Child Surprise was born under the black sun, and he tried to help her. She hurt many people and he still loved her in his way. Lambert trains with the School of the Cat. They've killed more humans than any sea creature, and he still calls them friend. Your status as their friend has not changed.”

After a long moment, Jaskier nodded. Geralt felt the point of his chin striking against his shoulder in the darkness. “Alright. But if they don't want me around...”

“Witchers never really want anyone around,” Geralt said. “We are solitary creatures.”

Jaskier laughed at that baldfaced lie. “Solitary creatures, my eye. I've seen you and Eskel fall asleep drunk in a pile together. You give Lambert piggy back rides.” He settled down for sleep and huffed. “Solitary creatures, like fuck...”

When they arrived at Kaer Morhen, Geralt dragged Jaskier through the front doors. But when they reached the dining hall, everyone greeted him like an old friend. Lambert and Eskel ribbed him about Geralt— “Glad he finally fucked you,” Lambert said. “If he waited any longer, I was going to take you to bed...”

Geralt snarled at him. “Fucking Ciri's here, you idiot.”

Ciri loved Jaskier, of course. She'd seen him in her grandmother's court a few times over the years and enjoyed his songs of the White Wolf, if she'd only known what Destiny had in store for them. Yennefer bid him a quick hello before pulling Ciri away to her lessons. Training never waited at Kaer Morhen, at least that hadn't changed.

Eskel pushed a drink into Jaskier's hand and tried to get him to sit, swap stories like usual. Jaskier glanced at Geralt and got a nod of encouragement. With Lambert and Eskel here, Vesemir sitting and reading by the fire, well, this was everyone he really needed to come clean to...

“I, uh, I have to tell you something,” he said. “About me. When Geralt found me, I was on the coast—”

“See, I was right!” Eskel slapped Geralt's arm, then motioned for Jaskier to continue.

“I was on the coast, living there. In the water. Because I'm... I'm part triton.” Jaskier closed his eyes and tensed up, waiting for the reaction.

Deafening silence filled the dining hall, stretching on for far too long, minutes, hours, Jaskier couldn't tell, but no one said anything. He opened his eyes to find Lambert and Eskel glaring at each other, not sparing a single glance for him.

“So who fucking wins?” Lambert snapped. “I said part elf—I got the part something right. You thought it was the stupid lute.”

“No way!” Eskel growled back. “Tritons have nothing to do with elves. Neither of us wins, we were both wrong.”

“I win.” Vesemir closed his book with a thwap and got up from his chair, walking over to lurk behind Lambert and Eskel, his hand outstretched. “I said triton. You two thought I was insane. It's obvious, he smells like a fish market!” He flicked his fingers expectantly. “I win, pay up.”

Grumbling and complaining, Eskel and Lambert dropped a not insignificant amount of coin into Vesemir's hand. The Old Wolf smirked and left the dining hall. As soon as he was gone, Lambert and Eskel scrambled to their feet, surrounding Jaskier. The first nose sniffing in his hair made him jump, he was just getting used to Geralt doing that, let alone fucking Eskel...

Lambert shoved his face into Jaskier's neck and sighed. “Fuck, he's right.” Grinding his teeth, Lambert chased after Vesemir. “It's not fair! I thought Geralt was fucking him, I didn't want to horn in on claimed territory!” His shouting echoed down the corridors. “Hey, how did you get close enough to tell? Vesemir!” Eskel withdrew from him as well and sat back down, checking Lambert's abandoned cards and ignoring Jaskier once again.

Mouth hanging open, Jaskier looked at Geralt, gesturing helplessly with his open hands. Geralt chuckled and swept closer, smelling his neck as well. “The others got to...” he mumbled. “And I told you they wouldn't care.”

Well, for the first time in a very long time, Geralt was actually correct about something. But fuck if Jaskier was about to admit that.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to rawrkinjd after they told me how much they liked siren/mermaid Jaskier fics. I got inspired :)
> 
> Yes, I fudged the lore a little. Since nereids are only female, and they have/steal female offspring (it's implied that their offspring always result from capture and rape by some bastard man) I figured if Jaskier was born from a love match, it might make him different... I also found out that tritons/mermen have two tails and wanted to use it, so I did.


End file.
